Just Breathe
by ambersblue
Summary: It was a routine salt and burn. Yet, It always seemed to be a routine salt and burn in which the Winchester's always ran into trouble. Sam drowns on a hunt. NOT a deathfic.
1. Chapter 1

"NO!" Dean screamed.

It was a routine salt and burn. It always seemed to be a routine salt and burn though in which the Winchester's always ran into trouble. Earlier that day, Sam and Dean headed to the cemetery to torch the corpse of some spirit. Now, that same spirit was currently holding Sam under the water of a lake less than 30 yards away from the freshly dug up grave.

Fighting every instinct in him to run and help his brother, Dean hurried to burn the body of the spirit. As Dean poured the salt into the grave, he kept looking up at his brother struggling in the water. Dean cursed himself for not bothering to bring his rock salt gun with him.

It was supposed to be simple. Sam had a gun ready to blast the spirit full of rock salt while Dean burned the bones. It was fool proof, until the ghost knocked Sam off his feet causing him to drop his gun and then continued to drag him into the lake.

So Dean knew the only way to help his brother right now was to burn this damn corpse already. In his fervor to save Sam, Dean dropped the whole box of salt into the grave before coating the inside of the grave with lighter fluid and setting the bones ablaze. Running over to the now still water, Dean dove in searching desperately for his baby brother. There was no time to allow himself to think about how long has passed since Sam last had oxygen in his lungs as he desperately tried to locate Sam in the murky water.

Thankfully, the lake was small and shallow making the task of finding Sam rather simple. As Dean pulled Sam to the surface, he refused to think of why his brother wasn't moving and why he was growing heavier and heavier as if his body wanted to go back down into the lake.

Throwing Sam up onto the grass, Dean clambered up onto the land dragging Sam with him away from the cold water. But Sam wasn't moving. Sam's eyes were closed and he looked pale and Dean felt his pulse skyrocket.

"Sammy," Dean all but whispered as he placed his index and middle fingers on the pulse point in Sam's neck. Dean continued to move his fingers all along Sam's neck trying to find his carotid artery even though he knew his fingers were already directly above it. Sam's didn't have a pulse.

Sam's heart was not beating. Sam's not breathing. "Please," begged Dean but it came out as a whisper. He could feel his clothes clinging around him, the cold water soaking into his bones, chilling him to the core.

This cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. Sam. Oh god. Please. Sam. Breathe. Please. Please. Oh my god. Please, Sammy.

Focus, Dean! Tune it all out, breathe, focus. Body working on autopilot, Dean placed his hands on Sam's chest preparing for CPR. Don't think, act.

"Dean focus, Dean watch out for your brother, Dean!" He could hear his father screaming at him. But his father wasn't here. His father who taught him CPR. His father who was a superhero. His father who could get Sam to breathe again. But his father was dead, and now the only person who could help Sam is Dean. So he started compressions.

"One, two, three, four," but Dean can't count out loud anymore. It's distracting and all he can think of is teaching Sammy to count holding up his fingers and writing the numbers down so Sam can see what they look like. Helping Sam with math homework and studying for tests. The numbers hurt too much so Dean stops counting and just continues to beat down on Sam's chest.

Oh god. Sam. Please. No. Come on. Breathe. Sammy. Please.

Continuing compressions, Dean realizes that he can't see. His vision is so blurred he can barely make out shapes. He blinks trying to clear his vision but doesn't falter in his compressions. He doesn't need to see anyway; all he needs is to get Sam breathing again.

Dean losses count a couple times and when he thinks he gets to 30 he leans down, tilts Sam's head back, and blows air into Sam's starved lungs.

Dean can't think about how cold Sam's lips are. Can't think about how they're starting to turn blue. Can't think about how they don't respond to Dean's mouth. Can't think about anything because he has a job to do and Sammy is counting on him.

After two breaths, Dean continues compression. Growing more and more detached, like a machine forcing his brother's dead heart to beat. Dean tries to control his breathing, knowing he won't be any good to Sam if he is a blubbering mess.

And one round of 30 compressions and 2 breaths later, Dean isn't thinking. Working completely on muscle memory like his father taught him so many years ago. Sam is fine. Sam is going to be fine. Keep your head. And he does, until he feels the sickening crunch of Sam's ribs underneath his hands that have been mercilessly, relentlessly pumping Sam's heart.

Sam doesn't move, doesn't react because Sam's not breathing. Dean continues, ignoring the ache in his arms, the dizziness in his head, the bile threatening to come up his throat. And then, Sam starts choking. Dean only acts on instinct as he turns Sam on his side as water gushes from Sam's mouth and nose. Dean still can't speak, knowing if he opens his mouth he'll start throwing up and then he can't help Sam. So he rubs his little brothers back as he chokes up some more water gasping and coughing. Sam's eyes are barely open but Dean sees his little brother's eyes looking around and manages to choke out, "It's okay Sammy. Let it all out."

Managing one more pathetically, weak cough, Sam slumps against Dean. Dean lays Sam back down and checks his breathing and his heart. Dean can breathe again, and then he's laughing and doesn't notice when his laughs turn into sobs that wrack his whole body. He feels Sam's broken ribs and listens to his lungs. The break is clean and his lungs sound clear so Dean finally lets the emotions come pouring back in now that Sam is out of immediate danger.

Sam almost died. Oh my god. Sam wasn't breathing. Sam drowned. And then Dean was throwing up in the bushes lining the lake. Dean recalls Sam's lips turning blue. Sam's rib breaking under the pounding of Dean's own hands on Sam's lax chest. Sam, Sam, Sam. Dean continues to retch until all that comes up is bile that stings his throat. Crawling back over to Sam he gathers up his strength to carry Sam to the Impala. Sam looks peaceful now, like he's resting and Dean can't get over the urge to crush his brother to his chest and just breathe him in. Sam's safe. Sam's breathing now and so can Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: I had a hard time writing this chapter so I'm sorry if it seems a little forced. Thanks for reading. Please review if you have the time. Critiques are really appreciated.**

Sam woke up confused. He tried to figure out where he was but his eyes were closed so he wasn't getting very far. It was dark and he was on something soft like a bed. It smelled like cigarette smoke so he ruled out a hospital. He must be in a motel. He felt something in his hand. Confused, Sam tried wiggling his fingers to figure out what he was holding.

"Sammy?" that was Dean's voice but it sounded a little funny. He realized Dean was holding his hand as Dean gave Sam's hand a squeeze.

Sam tried to open his eyes but his eyelids felt so heavy. He was exhausted and was just about to drift back to sleep when he heard "Sam?" it was Dean's voice again. It cracked as he said his name and Sam was confused.

Dean sounded upset. Dean was holding his hand. Something was wrong. Finally opening his eyes, Sam looked around trying to figure out what happened. Dean was sitting next to him on the bed in some motel room like he suspected. But Dean's eyes were red rimmed like he'd been crying.

"De- Dean" Sam managed. His throat felt raw. Hell, his whole body ached but Dean never cried and Sam needed to know what was going on.

"Shh Sammy, it's okay. I'm gonna get you some water." Dean said and promptly stood up and retreated into the bathroom. Dean came back carrying a glass of water and Sam checked Dean for injuries while he was walking. Dean looked fine and wasn't showing any signs of pain. So Dean was physically okay, that eased Sam's worrying a bit.

Dean sat down again on the bed and tilted the water back so Sam could drink it. He felt so weak. His chest was hurting like crazy. Probably bruised, or maybe a broken rib or two.

Bits and pieces were starting to come back to Sam now. They were hunting a spirit. Dean was going to salt and burn the corpse while Sam stood watch. But then he was in the water and he remembered he couldn't breathe. Dean must have saved him though, got him out of the water and then they probably just crashed as soon as they got to the motel room. But his chest was hurting and Dean had been crying. Dean looked worried, maybe even scared.

"Dean? Are you okay?" Sam asked a little hesitantly.

"I'm fine. How are you, anything hurt besides your throat?" Dean asked. He seemed a little pissed actually.

"I'm fine. Dean?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked getting a little annoyed.

"Did anything happen? Why are you so upset?"

"Shut up, Sam. Everyone is fine, it's all good. Go back to sleep."

"Did I… did I drown?" Sam mutters quietly. Dean's reaction affirms what he just asked though.

"No, goddammit, Sam, just stop. I don't want to have this conversation right now. Just go back to sleep. We can talk when you wake up." Dean looks a little sick. His already pale face seems to have picked up a greenish tint. Standing up angrily, Dean stormed into the bathroom leaving Sam no time to argue.

Sam was starting to get tired but knew he couldn't go back to sleep now because he heard Dean retching behind the bathroom door. Sam sat up slowly trying to minimize the head rush. Leaning against the headboard, Sam tried to get the room to stop spinning. Just as he was starting to get out of bed he heard the toilet flush.

The door opened and as Dean saw Sam trying to get out of bed he rushed over saying, "Jesus, Sam. Lay the fuck back down." Sam also thought he heard Dean mutter, "Goddamn idiot," under his breath.

"You were throwing up," Sam accused. "You said you were fine, are you sick?"

"Sam, all I want right now is for you to rest. I want you to stop asking me stupid questions. I'm fine." Dean sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"Was it that close?" whispered Sam. Dean never cries, Dean never throws up, Dean never does any of this.

"It was too close. You don't have any idea." Dean whispers so soft that Sam barely hears him. His façade of anger and annoyance is slipping. In its place is terror, concern, and love. "Don't," Dean's choking on tears now, "God Sammy, don't ever do that again," Dean finally manages to say.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Sam mumbles.

"Scared," Dean says as if it tastes funny on his lips. It probably does because Sam's never seen Dean scared before. "Scared doesn't fucking cover it, Sam. There are no words to even…" Dean trails off again before declaring, "I swear Sammy, you ever do that again…" but Dean can't finish the sentence because tears are flowing silently down his face as he pinches the brim of his nose.

Reaching over, Sam puts a hand on Dean's leg; it's the only part he can reach right now. "It's gonna be okay. I'm okay now," Sam says hoping to soothe Dean.

"But it wasn't, it wasn't okay before and… and Sam, you weren't even breathing." Dean can barely speak in full sentences now.

"Come lay down with me. It'll all be better in the morning. We can talk later."

Dean just nods before climbing into bed with Sam. Long after Sam has fallen asleep, Dean stays awake just listening to the sound of his brother's even breathing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry I haven't been updating much, I have been completely swamped lately. I'm going to try to be more diligent about writing but I make no promises. As always, thank you so much for reading and please, if you have the time, review or favorite this story. I plan on posting a little more tomorrow. Thanks again, ambersblue.**

"Dean!" Sam shouts trying to rouse his thrashing brother. Sam continues to shake Dean who is sweating profusely and whimpering in his sleep: "Wake up, Dean. It's just a dream."

Dean stops his thrashing and looks up at Sam with wide, wet eyes shining in the dark with unshed tears. "Sammy?" Dean asks clearly trying to orient himself.

"Yeah, it's okay, man. You had a nightmare," Sam calms without judgement in his voice.

Dean takes a steadying breath. "Yeah, it's good. Sorry. I'm good now, just go back to sleep." Dean turns over onto his stomach putting more space between him and Sam.

"You're clearly not. Look, I get it, you were scared. But, I'm fine now, Dean. It's been almost a week now. You gotta stop keeping this shit all bottled up. Talk to me, please, Dean," Sam's looking as if he believes that talking about it will make the problem will go away. It won't, it'll never go away. Talking about it means thinking about it and Dean can't… he just can't do that right now.

"Sam it's late. Go back to bed. Better yet, go back to your own bed. I don't need you sleeping in here with me as if I'll go crazy without having you within arm's reach of you every fucking second." Dean almost shouts. Sam has been sleeping in Dean's bed every night since he almost drowned, mainly because Dean looks so fucking fragile all the time. Sam's fine. He's healing well. His ribs aren't too badly broken; his bruises already are starting to fade. Dean just looks worse and worse. The bags under his eyes are starting to look like bruises and he's so much more irritable now. Sam wouldn't feel the need to sleep in Dean's bed if Dean didn't look as if he's falling apart.

"Fine," Sam stands and climbs into his own bed. Sam's getting more and more annoyed. Dean wants to mope all day but when Sam wants to help his brother out, Dean becomes a frickin' martyr: "I won't bring it up again. Clearly, you're fine and don't need to talk about it. Nothing messes with your head apparently, not even me fucking dying. Because the great Dean Winchester is fine and never freaks out."

"Don't" It's a warning and a prayer all at the same time. "I'm going to get some sleep," declares Dean. Dean turns his back to Sam and waits for sleep to find him.

When Sam wakes up, Dean isn't in the motel room. There is a note on the bedside table with Dean's nearly illegible handwriting. The note reads: "Went out to get some breakfast, be back soon –D." Sam turns over and thinks about last night. If Dean wants to ignore the problem, Sam will too. When Dean eventually freaks out, Sam will be waiting with an 'I told you so.'

Sam hates his dad right now; Dad had fucked Dean up so much that Dean can't even talk about what happened. Showing emotion is a weakness. Dean is falling apart yet he still clings to his pride, just like Dad told him.

Dean walks into the motel clutching a coffee and a brown Starbucks bag. "I got you your fancy coffee and a bagel. They don't even use normal sizes in there. Why is a tall the smallest size? Why is a grande only a medium? That place makes no sense at all. Plus the coffee in there costs a fortune."

Sam only smiles and takes his coffee and bagel. He figures this is as much as a piece offering as he is going to get. This is Dean's way of apologizing for last night. Sam sips his coffee trying to hide his smile from Dean.

"I think… I think I want to talk about it. I want to talk about what happened. You're right, I can't… I can't keep doing this. So, I guess we're going to try it your way Dr. Phil."

Shock doesn't cover what Sam is feeling so he just takes another sip of the sweet coffee and considers how he is going to formulate a response. "Okay, then talk, Dean," is the best he can come up with. Sam doesn't want to be too sappy and ruin this chance for Dean to finally get this all off his chest.

"Okay, I… I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've been such a dick about all of this." Dean starts.

"Dean, its fine, I get it."

"Stop. I just, I want to talk and not get interrupted. Will you just let me rant for a little bit. Isn't that what a good physiatrist does, Samantha?" Dean's teasing now. He still wants to talk though so Sam can only assume it's a step towards the right direction.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long. School was absolutely crazy and I had no time to write. This will probably be the last chapter and I don't think it's that great. I'm getting a little bored of this story. Thanks so much for reading.**

"So, we were, um, we were hunting that spirit and then you were in the water and the ghost was holding you under. Jesus, Sam. It's like you're trying to give me a heart attack. But..." Dean's running his fingers over his face and Sam can hear his intake of breath. "You, you were at the bottom of the lake and I got you out but, you, you weren't breathing. And I, I was so scared. I was so freaking scared and Sammy, I…" Dean's voice fades out as more and more tear tracks appear on his face. "I can't even put into words what I was feeling Sam. It's too much."

"Dean. It's okay. I promise. We're both here and we're safe." Sam is surprised that his brother admitted to being afraid.

"I don't think I've ever felt so out of control in my life. It was like everything moved too fast but too slow all at the same time. I'm scared Sam. I'm so fucking terrified all the time. If anything were to happen to you…"

"But it won't, because you won't let anything happen to me. Not to mention that I can take care of myself."

"I don't want to get into this argument again, Sam. I just want you to know I'm sorry for hovering. I also want you to know that it's not going to stop anytime soon so get over it. Having to... having to force your heart to beat is not something I can just forget."

"Sometimes, I feel like we never understood how important the lessons Dad taught us were. When we learned CPR I couldn't help but think I would never need to know how to do this anyway."

"I always thought Dad's lessons were important. Listened to every single word he said. Couldn't help but thinking, god forbid if this ever happened to Sammy I need to know what to do. When you were first learning how to swim, I would watch you like a hawk; I would try not to even blink because I couldn't let anything happen to you. Still can't let anything happen to you, Sam."

"Dean,"

"I love you so much, Sammy. I know I don't say it much but I can't help but think about the 'what ifs'. You know? I need you to know that. No matter what happens, I love you. And I'm sorry for being such a chick but I do."

"I love you too, Dean. Everything is gonna be alright."

 **Author's note: Sorry that was terrible. I felt like I needed a conclusion though and I had no idea what to write.**


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